


Bib And Tucker

by ProfessorFlimflam



Category: Holby City
Genre: Charlotte’s wedding, Dressing to Impress, F/F, May contain traces of potato, Mild mashing, Outshining the brides, Potato faced men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlimflam/pseuds/ProfessorFlimflam
Summary: “Dressing for revenge, hey? Well, now you’re talking!” Serena rubbed her hands together gleefully. A shopping trip, Bernie looking gorgeous in a dress, and teaching Marcus a lesson sounded like a winning combination to her.***You call Serena’s woman a bad dresser on this, the day of her daughter’s wedding?
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74
Collections: The Final Countdown





	Bib And Tucker

For a woman who always looked so effortlessly gorgeous, Bernie really didn’t have the first clue about dressing herself. When she had mentioned that she had nothing to wear for the evening do at Charlotte’s upcoming wedding, Serena had been surprised - Bernie so often wore a well tailored jacket and a nice shirt to formal things, but Bernie had got it into her head that she wanted to wear a dress. Pressed on the matter, it transpired that a casually cruel comment from Marcus had left her determined to look her very best, though not her very butchest.

“Dressing for revenge, hey? Well, now you’re talking!” Serena rubbed her hands together gleefully. A shopping trip, Bernie looking gorgeous in a dress, and teaching Marcus a lesson sounded like a winning combination to her. “What did he actually say?”

Knowing Serena’s temper all too well, Bernie was reluctant to tell her and increase the risk of a scene on the day, but she eventually gave in to her cajoling. She had gone to a dress fitting with Charlotte, and the saleswoman had asked what the mother of the bride would be wearing. Bernie hadn’t thought about it yet, but mistaking her hesitation for anxiety, Charlotte had said vehemently, “Don’t let Dad get to you, Ma - you wear whatever you like.”

Having been blissfully unaware of anything Marcus had said to anyone in months, Bernie had been puzzled, but it transpired that her ex-husband, quietly seething that his daughter was following in her mother’s footsteps and living her best life with a woman, had just about managed not to lash out at Charlotte or her girlfriend, but had spitefully suggested that Bernie would turn up in dungarees. “Have a word with her, make sure she doesn’t embarrass you, eh, Charlie Girl?” he had said. She hadn’t risen to the bait, other than to remind him that her name was Charlotte, thank you very much, and she would much prefer that he didn’t abbreviate it. This only served to incense him further, as he knew that Bernie called her Lottie without any rebuff from their headstrong daughter, and he sulked for days about it.

“I can’t remember ever seeing you in dungarees, but half of me wants you to wear them now,” Charlotte had said angrily, but Bernie had soothed her ruffled feathers and assured her that she would wear something that everyone was comfortable with. “Would you wear your uniform for me? That will _really_ annoy him,” but Bernie said that the last thing she wanted was for Charlotte and Carey’s big day to be about anything other than the two of them - however much fun it would be, she had added with a wink.

“Shame,” Serena said. “I do like you in your uniform. We’ll have to find another excuse for you to wear it soon. I assumed you’d wear a nice suit - how about going the whole hog and wearing white tie and tails?” Serena had developed quite the taste for androgynous tailoring as modelled by her other half, but Bernie brushed this suggestion aside. 

“It’s rather playing up to type, isn’t it? And whatever I wear has to be relatively unremarkable, I think - oh, not because of that idiot, just because it’s bad form to look as if you’re trying to outdo the brides. No - I’ll find a nice dress - nothing too showy - and be the consummate mother of the bride.”

“The lucky girl has three mothers of the bride - we’ll be meeting Marcus’s new wife there, won’t we? Do you think perhaps we ought to make an attempt to meet her first, make sure there won’t be any unpleasantness?”

Bernie laughed. “Honestly, she’s so much more than welcome to him - I hope they make each other happy. I’m sure if Charlotte thought it was a good idea she’d have arranged it already. No, let’s just play it all very low key and let the girls have their day. Best behaviour, Campbell, alright?”

***

The shopping trip had considerably more enjoyable for Serena than it had for Bernie, who was told in no uncertain terms that “This one will do” was not the appropriate reaction when selecting a dress for an occasion as important as this one. Dress after dress was discarded, shop after shop exhausted, to say nothing of Bernie’s patience. Only judiciously applied changing room “assistance” could keep her engaged in the effort.

The garment eventually declared by Serena as The One was something Bernie would not even have taken off its hanger: a silky thing in shimmering cobalt blue that fell in swathes from the shoulders to the waist, with a skirt that fell just so from Bernie’s slim hips.

“Oh, yes, that’s _very_ nice,’ Serena breathed, gazing in admiration. “Just look at yourself, you gorgeous thing.” She angled Bernie toward the floor length mirror, and Bernie had to admit that it did look good on her, and bore it with fortitude as Serena twisted and fluffed her hair to give an impression of how she might look on the day. She caught Serena’s little frown in the mirror and asked with dread if there was a problem: she really couldn’t bear the thought of looking for anything else.

“Well,” Serena smirked, “Not for me. But the back is so open - I don’t think you can wear a bra with this. What do you think?” 

Bernie twisted round and saw the problem. Her back was indeed on full display, but she was just happy to have something that obscured the worst of her scars, and she shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me - I don’t really need to wear one for support, do I?” And she slipped her bra off, looking again in the mirror, quite satisfied with the result. “There - problem solved. No-one’s going to be looking at me, anyway, not with two brides to ooh and aah over.”

Serena was only too happy with the effect, though privately she thought Bernie was seriously underestimating her own impact - and that of this dress and the way she was wearing it, but she couldn’t deny that this dress was head and shoulders the best thing they had found. 

“Excellent! Then we’re all sorted - that nice floral thing for the ceremony, and this delightful article for the evening. Shall we go for a drink to celebrate?”

***

Marcus was rather thicker in the waist than the last time she had seen him.

“Marriage suits you better this time round,” she said with a friendly smile that took any bitterness out of the exchange. “You look very contented - I’m glad.”

In spite of himself, Marcus smiled in return. “Thanks - yes, it’s all working out very well, I have to say. It’s nice to have someone at home when I get in - it’s very different from the way you and I were, but we’re both happier, I think. You’re looking well, too,” he added, looking approvingly at the calf length dress she had worn for the ceremony, and the simple elegant twist of her hair.

“Thanks - and doesn’t Lottie look gorgeous,” she beamed, looking round as their daughter threw her head back in laughter at some joke her new wife had just made. It was a sweet sight to share with the father of her beautiful daughter, and whatever bad blood remained between them dissolved in the brightness of the moment - though Marcus couldn’t quite help himself.

“Don’t let her hear you call her that - she hates it being shortened!”

“Does she? Huh - she’s never mentioned it to me. Thanks for the heads up. Will you introduce us to Annette? I hoped we’d all be able to meet and say hello before the wedding, but you cut it a bit fine - bad traffic?”

“Oh, no, the drive was fine - Annette was fussing about getting ready, though I kept telling her looked fine.” He rolled his eyes. “At least you never kept me wanting trying to make yourself look decent.”

Bernie just laughed at this, glad that Serena wasn’t there to be outraged on her behalf. Wondering what he’d said to merit the laughter, Marcus explained that his wife had already gone to get changed for the evening, but that he’d be sure to introduce them as soon as she came down. Bernie made her excuses - she had better think about doing the same - and with a warm press of the hand, she made her way over to her daughter and her new daughter in law, slipping an arm around each of their waists.

“I hear I’m not to call you Lottie any more, darling - you should have told me you didn’t like it! Your Gran always called me Berenice until the day she died, and I hated it. Charlotte it is from now on.”

But Charlotte turned a puzzled look on her. “What? I don’t mind it at all! I love that you have a special name for me. I just don’t like that stupid name Dad uses. Look, we’re going to go and get change for the evening do - we’ll find you later. I want to dance with you after our first dance - and Serena after that.” She hugged her mother, who held her tightly, determined not to cry, and very nearly succeeding.

***

It was with the very deepest satisfaction that Serena watched Marcus’s jaw drop as he caught sight of Bernie coming down the stairs in the cobalt dress. She saw Annette’s eyebrows go up, as well, and the little sideways glance that she shot at her husband: a look that seemed to say “you didn’t tell me she looked like _this!_ ” She knew that she was biased, but she wasn’t sure that Bernie had achieved her aim of not outshining the brides. They had managed to find a pair of suede shoes in the same shade of blue, with heels that accentuated her tall, lean figure, and which did marvellous things for her calves. A slightly more elaborate hairdo than she had worn during the day, and a more generous application of mascara and dark eyeshadow than usual made for an absolutely stunning look, and Serena congratulated herself.

She felt confident in her own appearance as well, and positively preened as she took Bernie’s arm and stepped down the grand staircase, making an entrance like Fred and Ginger. Marcus had managed to stop catching flies by the time they reached the bottom, and he stepped forward perhaps a _little_ too eagerly.

“Wow! You look - you look amazing, Bern, really. And you, Serena, of course,” though his eyes never left his ex-wife’s figure.

“Thank you, Marcus - it’s Bernie though, please, I’m sure you can’t have forgotten. Ah - you must be Annette!” And she swept past him, hand outstretched to greet her successor. Annette was a pleasant looking woman, perhaps a few years her senior, and she couldn’t have looked more different from Bernie if she tried. Talking it over with Serena later, she suddenly clapped her hands and said, “Ma Larkin! He’s gone and married Ma Larkin! No wonder he looks so well fed and looked after. He always did want someone more motherly than I was ever going to be.”

Now, though, she engaged Annette in brief but friendly conversation. She was as pleasant and comfortable a woman as she looked, and although they were cut from very different cloth, she rather liked her. She saw Charlotte gesturing wildly at her over Annette’s shoulder, and excused herself, promising to chat more later on, and she went to go and greet her daughter. Her hand warm against the bare skin at the small of Bernie’s back, Serena paused just long enough to murmur into Marcus’s ear.

“ _So_ sorry, Marcus - we tried and tried, but we just _couldn’t_ find dungarees to match the shoes. Maybe when it’s Cameron’s turn, hmm?” And she was gone, skin to skin with the most beautiful woman in the room. When she glanced back, a wicked twinkle in her eye, it was to see Annette adjusting Marcus’s tie, and smoothing his hair as though he were a recalcitrant schoolboy.

“No wonder Cameron’s such a mummy’s boy,” she thought. 


End file.
